


Fic February - 27

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: Fic!February 2014 - Gallavich Style [27]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fic!February, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day twenty-seven of fic February. The coffee shop AU fic this fandom didn't know it needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic February - 27

**Author's Note:**

> super proud of this one
> 
> EDIT: i wrote a short little follow up to this fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2412566/chapters/5921135) since so many people asked for more of this au!

                The front door to the shop opened with a ding and Ian looked up from where he was finishing up the dishes from the lunch rush that day. He found the culprit hurriedly pushing the door shut and flicking off the store’s open sign. Then he turned the lock and slumped against it, huffing out his breaths. Ian watched him for a second and when it was obvious that he wasn’t planning on moving, he spoke.

 

                “You have to unlock the door and turn the sign off,” he said and the guy whipped around to look at him, as if he wasn’t expecting there to be any people much less employees in a coffee shop at three in the afternoon.

 

                “Fuck – where the fuck did you come from?”

 

                “... I work here?” Ian paused and when the guy still kept looking at him like _he_ was the intruder here, he continued. “Right, well. Order something or get out. And turn the sign back on on your way out.”

 

                “You’re fuckin’ kidding!”

 

                “No. Buy something or leave,” When the guy didn’t move, Ian continued. “I could just dump you out on your ass. I don’t need whatever shit you’re mixed up in in my shop.”

 

                He snorted. “Ain’t your shop.”

 

                “Whatever. I’m not gonna go down for this shit,” he moved from his place at the sink, setting the last mug on the drying rack and then drying his hands off using the dish towel he kept tucked into his apron. He went to the till and waited.

 

                “So uh... what you going down for then?” he asked, eyebrows raised and Ian found himself really enjoying that grin. The guy had a really attractive mouth, and Ian couldn’t deny how intriguing he found him. He rolled his eyes in response to that comment though, since he didn’t want to latch on to what could be an innocent (if crude) comment.

 

                “Buy something or get out,” Ian repeated.

 

                The guy visibly deliberated for another moment before he scoffed and got to his feet. He dug in his pocket for some change and squinted at the menu board.

 

                “Medium coffee, one milk and four sugars,” he said, and Ian rung him up and took his change. “Couple shots of Jack if you’ve got it.”

 

                That made Ian smile a bit as he took a paper cup from the stack and got a pen from his apron. “Your name?”

 

                Mickey blinked and frowned. “I’m the only person in this fuckin’ shop.”

 

                “It’s – uh – it’s standard protocol,” Ian stammered, looking down at the cup and keeping his pen poised to write.

 

                “It’s Mickey,” he said, clearly reluctant, and Ian scribbled it down on the cup before he went about making the coffee. The name was surprisingly cute for a rough-looking guy like him and Ian momentarily considered that it might be fake. But then again, why would anyone give a fake name they didn’t like?

 

                He handed the coffee to Mickey and made note of his tattooed knuckles. Charming. He’d done most of his cleaning and his other little jobs and it wasn’t like there were any other customers to serve so he leaned against the counter and asked; “So you’re running from the cops?”

 

                “Yeah,” Mickey said, drumming his fingers against the cup as he waited for it cool enough for him to drink. Ian waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, just glanced at the front door of the shop as if he expected half a dozen cops to swoop in through the glass at any second.

 

                “What did you do?” he asked.

 

                “Stole some smokes,” Mickey replied. “Nearly ran into the cops when I was running out of the place, and the fuckers pretty much chase anyone running away from them.”

 

                “That all?”

 

                “I’m a bit of a repeat offender,” Mickey mumbled. He popped open the top of his coffee and watched the steam waft from the hole. “Been in juvie enough times that I know I don’t wanna go back.”

 

                “Fair enough,” Ian watched him finally take a sip of his drink. He didn’t grimace in disgust so he assumed it was alright. “Your coffee alright?”

 

                “Sweet,” Mickey said. The smirk he shot at Ian was positively devilish and Ian thought he really shouldn’t have found it as hot as he did. “I like ‘em sweet.”

 

                “That so?” Ian asked, though he didn’t know where he was actually going with it. He mostly just said it so he’d have something to say instead of just letting that loaded comment hang there.

 

                “Yeah,” he said. “How ‘bout you? How do you like ‘em?”

 

                “Uh,” Ian said. “I – uh, I dunno. I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

 

                “It’s just coffee, man. You work in a coffee shop. You gotta have a favourite kind of coffee.”

 

                “I usually drink coffee at home,” Ian said. He thought about how to answer the question and decided to go the flirtacious route. “And uh, my sister usually gets up before me and starts the coffeemaker, and she makes it really dark and strong and a little hard to get down,” he smirked a little and bit his lip, looking up at Mickey through his eyelashes. “So even when I make my own coffee, I drink it black, ‘cause I like it rough and gritty.”

 

                Mickey chuckled and took a drink of his own coffee, probably because he didn’t know how to respond or figured it was safer not to. He surprised Ian though, because he did respond. He set his cup back down on the counter and slid onto a stool. He shrugged off his jacket, then said, “Guess you could say I like it rough too.”

 

                “Yeah, I can tell,” Ian said, brushing his thumb along the line of his jaw to indicate the bruise Mickey had on his. Mickey touched at his own jaw absent-mindedly and laughed.

 

                “No, that was a fight with my sister,” Mickey said, swishing his coffee around in his cup. “For such a tiny bitch she can fuckin’ sock you one.”

 

                “You’re not exactly built like a linebacker yourself, Mickey,” Ian said and he had the feeling that if he had been someone else and if they’d met under different circumstances that comment would have gotten him a punch in the face.

 

                “Ay, I could take ya,” Mickey said, gesturing vaguely at the empty space between them. He eyed Ian up, taking in his broad shoulders and wiry arms. He nodded as if he was satisfied with his assessment. “Yeah, no problem. You’d be my bitch in two minutes, tops.”

 

                “Maybe someday we’ll know,” Ian said. He watched Mickey drain his cup and then get up off his chair and go over to the door, peeking past the sign. Ian took the time to check to check out his ass and decided yes, he needed to have that. He got another cup and made another coffee identical to the first one he’d made for Mickey, then scribbled a quick note on the sleeve. He slipped the sleeve on and covered the words with his hand. When Mickey came back to the stool to get his jacket to leave, Ian held it out to him. “Here, on the house. You made my shift a little less boring.”

 

                Mickey shrugged on his jacket and looked at the offered cup, taking it tentatively. Their hands brushed and it was nothing short of electric. He grinned sheepishly and it was adorable. “Thanks, Firecrotch.”

 

                “No problem, Mickey,” Ian said. “Stay outta trouble.”

 

                “Fuck that,” Mickey said, laughing, and he almost wanted to hang around a bit longer but he had things to do and things were comfortable between them so he left.

 

-

 

                It wasn’t until he’d finished the coffee and was about to throw the cup out that Mickey noticed Ian’s note. He took the sleeve off and tossed the cup, smoothing the crinkled corrugate out with his thumbs.

 

_Mickey, you’re so fine you blow my mind_

_If you wanna find out if you can take me, shoot me a text_

_-Ian_

 

                Mickey ran his thumb over the number scribbled after the name. He pocketed the sleeve and he couldn’t stifle his grin for the rest of the day.


End file.
